


A Crucible

by spaztronaut



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternative Universe - No Island, F/M, Oliver is Ollie in this AU, drunk driving AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-13 21:51:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5718361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaztronaut/pseuds/spaztronaut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ollie Queen is the luckiest guy in the world. He's got money, power and he knows he's good looking. He can have anything, or anyone, he wants. Until a mistake leaves him realizing that money and his family's name can't fix everything, and sometimes the only way to right a wrong is to stand up and face your mistakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this over the summer, but with all the spoilers floating around I decided that I should finally finish it. So here's the first part. This should be a quick one, probably only two parts, but we'll see how it goes.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy! Leave a comment and let me know what you think, or stop by my tumblr: spaztronautwriter

Oliver Queen was drunk.

The brunette hanging off of his arm was more drunk, but he was very aware of how difficult it was to keep from tripping over his own two feet. Honestly, he thought it was pretty funny. His grin was wide as he and his date for the night—he wasn't so sure of her name—stumbled through the crowd.

The club—again he wasn't sure of the name, he'd been to three tonight—was still full of attractive people and he kept getting distracted by long legs and shiny dresses as he moved forward. But he'd already picked out his companion for the night. He was pretty sure she was a model. Not one of the Victoria Secret ones that people knew by name, but nothing to scoff at.

As they made their way to the exit, Oliver felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He didn't bother reaching for it because he already knew who it was. He'd just left Tommy at the bar with a redhead who's... assets would certainly keep his friend distracted for awhile. It could be Laurel, he mused, but she'd have to be speaking to him to call. No, he knew it was his mother, and the thought cut through the happy buzz he was feeling.

His mother, who'd been bugging him for the last two weeks about needing to "grow up" and take on more responsibility, was the last thing he wanted to think about tonight, so he ignored the buzzing until it stopped and squeezed his date's ass, making her giggle. In return, she leaned into his ear, making delicious, breathy promises of things to come—pun intended. All thoughts of his mother dissolved and the warm feeling flowing through his veins returned to the forefront of his mind.

When they'd finally made it to the valet, Oliver told him it was the black Lamborghini and sighed when the man didn't immediately run off to fetch the car.

"Listen, I have the ticket, somewhere," he told the guy in the stupid looking red vest. He pulled a stack of cash from his pocket and pulled a bill from the top. "I'm sure this will speed things up."

Red Vest looked between him and the model and then down at the money in Oliver's hand, before he nodded and had the car brought around. He figured he'd make out with his date while waiting for the car, but his phone started ringing again before he'd gotten much further than a peck.

"Are you gonna answer that?" the brunette giggled, reaching into his pants pocket. "Here, let me get it for you."

Her barely concealed groping wasn't enough to distract him once she handed him the phone, his mother's picture lighting up the screen. Steeling himself, he swiped the screen and answered the call.

"Oliver." His mother was talking before he'd even brought the phone to his ear. "I know that you're out with Tommy, but I need you to come home. I told you there was a board meeting tomorrow I wanted you to sit in on and I would rather you not be hungover while attending."

"Mom," Oliver practically whined. "It's eleven o'clock on a Saturday."

"It's Wednesday, Oliver." His mother's disappointed sigh killed his buzz a little, but he refused to let her sober him completely. He was having a good time.

"Whatever," he told her. "I'm not drinking anymore tonight, okay? Just have a car sent to... What's your address?" he asked the brunette, who was now officially looking bored by his conversation. She didn't answer right away, so he turned back to his phone call. "Call me in the morning and I'll get a car myself, alright?"

"Oliver..." There was that sigh again.

"I'll be at the stupid board thing, Mom," he snapped. "What more do you want from me?"

When she didn't reply right away, he knew it had been the wrong thing to say. He hung up the phone quickly, shoving it back in his pocket and putting the whole thing out of his head. Hopefully, the stupid feeling in his chest, the one he always got when he disappointed his parents, would fade and leave him to his pleasant buzz and even pleasanter companion.

The humming of an expensive engine caught his attention and he looked up to see his Lamborghini rounding the corner. He grabbed the keys from the valet as soon as the guy pulled up in his car.

"Sir," the man said taking a long look at Oliver, "maybe we should call you a cab."

Oliver ignored him, getting behind the wheel and winking at his date. She giggled and gracefully folded herself into the passenger seat, her long, tan legs popping against the dark leather seats. Oliver reached over, sliding a hand over her knee, and hit the gas, speeding away from the club.

His mind shut out all thoughts of his mother and her disappointment and the board thing he was being forced to attend. Right now, tonight, the only problem he had to worry about was whether or not his date liked to give head.

He'd barely made it out of downtown before he found out how wrong he was.

•••

One minute he's cruising along—music up, top down, his fingers ghosting up a soft thigh—the next, he's jerking the wheel, terror nearly overwhelming him as the screech of metal drowns out everything.

When it stops, when the world stops spinning and he can breathe again, he looks around. The brunette next to him is saying something, no, yelling. She's screaming and there's a small, bloody scratch on her forehead. She's screaming at him, but he can't hear her. He knows that should worry him. It doesn't.

He blinks once, twice. There's steam coming up from something in the road ahead. A tangled red thing. The street lights blink green, then yellow. There aren't any cars.

He feels like everything is happening around him, but not to him. Like he's underwater, or in a snow globe. Thea always liked snow globes. He'd thought they were stupid, all you did was shake them and watch the snow fall. No fun in that.

He's watching the steam rise from the clump of metal in the middle of the intersection and thinking about snow globes when the world rushes back to him.

•••

"Oh my god, you killed them!"

He could barely hear his date over the blaring of a horn, but she just kept screaming variations of the same thing. You killed them, you killed them. That's what brought Oliver back to himself. _You killed them_.

Finally, after seconds or minutes, he wasn't sure, he recognized the steaming, screeching hunk of metal in the middle of the road. A car. He'd hit a car. A red Mini Cooper from the looks of it. And he didn't see any movement inside.

His neck was stiff and his knee hurt, but he reached for the door. It was jammed, but with a little force he managed to get out. He didn't look at his Lamborghini. He didn't care. He couldn't tear his eyes from the wreck in front of him.

Somehow he could hear glass crunching under his shoes even over the blaring horn. The sounds, separately, were nothing out of the ordinary, but together they made his stomach clench in fear.

He'd hit someone. Someone in a tiny red car.

The car in question was still right side up, but the entire passenger side was crushed. Oliver breathed a quick sigh of relief that no one seemed to be in the passenger seat. For one brief moment, he let himself hope. Let himself hope that it wasn't as bad as it looked. Then he looked at the driver's side.

He'd obviously hit the car on the right side while it was in the intersection. But the real damage was done when the car rammed into the median on the driver's side. Oliver's stomach heaved once when he saw the small figure of a woman folded over the steering wheel, but then he was moving, swallowing down his fear and his bile.

Rounding the car, he realized he'd never be able to get the door open, so instead he reached in, feeling for a pulse. Almost all of the glass from the window was lying on the asphalt by his feet, so nothing stopped him from brushing his fingers along the woman's neck. Her heart beat steadily against his finger tips.

"Call an ambulance!" he yelled to his date. He glanced up to see she was out of the totaled Lamborghini, standing next to the wreckage in her short sequined dress.

"I'm sorry, Ollie." She gave him a helpless shrug before she turned, picking her way through the glass and debris in her high heels, leaving him and the unconscious girl alone.

He stared after her for a moment, not quite believing she'd just left him. He didn't even know why—surely he was the one who would get into trouble for this, not her. But she was gone, and Oliver quickly pulled his phone from his pocket, dialing 911.

Once he knew help was on the way, he looked back at the injured woman. Her head was still resting on the steering wheel, the horn still blaring. He wanted to move her, to sit her back more comfortably in her seat, but he didn't know if she had a neck injury. He was pretty sure that he shouldn't move her in case she did. Instead, he brushed the remaining glass from the window, careful not to let any fall into the car, then he reached in and took her hand. He knelt in the glass and twisted hunks of metal and cement, holding her hand and whispering what he hoped were words of comfort, trying to ignore the loudness of the horn and the fear and guilt that had lodged in his chest.

"You're gonna be okay," he told her. "Everything's going to be alright. The ambulance is on its way. I won't leave until they're here. I won't leave you."

He rested his head against the demolished side of her car and closed his eyes, small splinters of glass biting into his forehead and knees.

"I won't leave you," he whispered. "You're gonna be okay. I won't leave."

•••

Two ambulances showed up, along with a _lot_ of police cars.

The paramedics pulled him away from the car so they could get to the woman trapped and unconscious inside, but he still refused to leave. He made the paramedics assess and treat his wounds onsite, refusing to leave until he saw them put her into an ambulance.

The police had only asked a few questions at the accident, but he knew as soon as they got to the hospital he'd more than likely be arrested. Especially because this wasn't his first DUI. His dad had gotten him out of the others, but he wasn't sure if his mom would do the same. He wasn't sure if he deserved to get out of this one.

So he was surprised when his mother was at the hospital waiting for him. Someone on the police force must have called her as soon as they realized Oliver Queen had been involved in an accident.

"Oh, sweetheart!" she cooed as they wheeled him into the emergency room.

He glanced past her, looking for the girl from the accident. He didn't see her, but he took that as a good thing. They already had her in the emergency room, they were already helping her.

"I'm okay, Mom," he said, looking back at her. She cupped his face in her hands, her intense blue eyes searching his, checking him over for injuries. He pulled her hands away, reassuring her. "Really, I'm fine."

She took a step back, nodding as the paramedics wheeled him over to an empty area. He wasn't injured, not badly anyway, so a nurse told him a doctor would be over shortly.

"I need to go talk to the hospital staff," his mother said quietly, glancing around for someone in charge. "I've already called the lawyers." She looked back at him seriously. "If anyone tries to take your blood, you call for me."

Oliver blinked, then blinked again. "Mom..."

"Paying off police and doctors is one thing, Oliver, but if they have evidence that you were under the influence and this goes to trial..." She sighed that disappointed sigh again and suddenly Oliver felt like he might cry. His mother saw the look in his eyes and took it for fear. "Don't worry, sweetheart," she said, running her fingers through his hair. "I'll take care of everything."

But the thing was, he wasn't sure he wanted her to.

•••

After the accident, after his mother paid off a few hospital employees and a few Starling City police officers and the paramedics who'd worked on him at the scene, everything pretty much went back to normal for Oliver.

He'd missed the board meeting the next day, but everyone was very understanding since he'd been in an accident. Rumors had gotten out that he was drunk, but there was no evidence to prove it and the gossip sites dropped it once the Queen family checkbook got involved.

All in all, Oliver had gotten off scot-free. He was, once again, the luckiest guy in the world. The woman he'd hit, however, had not been so lucky.

Felicity Smoak.

His mother had told him her name two days after the accident. He'd camped out in his family's mansion, recuperating and lying low from the press and paparazzi, but his mother told him she was going to the hospital to meet with Felicity and her family.

Felicity.

He tried to look her up while he was stuck inside. She didn't have any social media, not even a Facebook. It was like she didn't even exist. Part of him thought it would be easier if she didn't. The bigger part of him couldn't believe what a scumbag he was for even thinking that. That was the part of him that remembered the beat of her pulse under his fingertips and the way her blonde hair had hidden her face from him as she'd unconsciously slumped against the steering wheel. The warm feeling of her hand in his as he kneeled beside her, praying he wasn't lying when he said everything would be alright.

When his mother came home from the hospital that day he could tell she'd been crying. She wouldn't speak to him at first, even when he asked what had happened. Finally, after composing herself, she sat him down and explained the extent of Felicity's injuries, the extent of what he'd done.

Oliver may have been the luckiest guy in the world, but that made Felicity the unluckiest girl. She'd not only suffered scrapes and whiplash and a concussion, same as him, but she'd had a slight brain bleed, which, his mother assured him, had been treated quickly and she'd make a full recovery.

"That's great, right?" Oliver said, feeling relief wash over him for the first time since the accident. "She'll be okay."

Moira hesitated and Oliver felt his calm slipping away.

"Oliver," she began. "Felicity's head trauma wasn't the most severe injury she sustained." She glanced at him and he wasn't sure what she saw, but her hand found his and gave it a tight squeeze. "When her car hit the median, a piece of the doorframe pierced her lower back. It paralyzed her from the waist down."

Oliver shook his head, thinking back to the wreck. He didn't remember anything piercing her back, but he hadn't looked that hard. He'd been underwater, in a snow globe, worrying about whether or not he'd killed someone. He'd never stopped to think beyond his own experience. That girl, Felicity, had been impaled by a piece of her car and he'd just sat next to her, telling her it would be alright.

"I'm taking care of it," Moira assured him, "but, sweetheart, you need to know, she isn't expected to walk again."

"What do you mean, you're taking care of it?" It was the only thing he could ask. His mind refused to think about the other part of what she said.

"I've discussed things with Felicity and her mother. They were... kind enough to speak with me. We're paying all of her medical bills and for her to have the best doctors, but even so, the probability of her ever walking—"

Oliver left then. Just stood up and walked away. His mother calling for him, yelling for him to come back, drown out by the sudden rush of blood in his ears. It was an annoying buzz that he followed to his father's old liquor cabinet, grabbing a bottle of whiskey, before heading up to his room to drown out the rest of his mother's words in peace.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to have this chapter out over the weekend, but I got a little distracted researching spinal cord injuries. Like, read an entire 400 page book about it on top of all the websites and forums I checked out sort of distracted. It was all sorts of interesting and I'm glad I did.
> 
> And this chapter is still out before Arrow comes back on Wednesday so whoo! Because I seriously have no idea what my brain is gonna do once it does. Explode from feels, maybe? Dunno, we'll see I guess. Good luck, everyone, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please review and let me know what you think!
> 
> And head over to my tumblr if you'd like to chat: spaztronautwriter :)

Oliver knew he wasn't the most emotionally healthy guy. He knew he tended to avoid emotional conflicts by any means necessary. And those means usually involved short skirts and lots of alcohol.

But, since he'd only had access to one of those last night, he'd simply had to make the most of it.

After his mother told him about the woman he'd paralyzed, he'd gone straight to his room with a bottle of whiskey and locked the door. Once he finished that off he was glad to remember he had a bottle of tequila shoved in his nightstand from that time he'd almost talked Laurel into doing body shots.

He tried social media, watching TV, even porn, but nothing worked to distract him. He just kept playing the accident back in his head, over and over again. The sounds of metal on metal, glass crunching on the road. The horn piercing the quiet night. Felicity's head falling forward onto the steering wheel, a piece of jagged metal cutting through her flesh. Blood everywhere. Cold, dead eyes pinning him in place, just like...

He jerked awake, breathing heavily.

That wasn't real, he told himself. Just a bad dream. Felicity was in the hospital. Alive. His mother had told him so.

Oliver heaved himself out of bed and stumbled into his bathroom. He brushed his teeth and splashed some water on his face before walking back to his bed and grabbing his laptop.

He wasn't surprised to see it was late, nearly four in the morning. After all, he'd started drinking early in the afternoon the day before. There was still almost half a bottle of tequila sitting on his nightstand. He was tempted, but after his dream he felt even more restless than before. He needed to... _do something_.

So he googled her name. Again.

He already knew she didn't have any social media, but there were plenty of articles about the accident. Articles he'd deliberately not read when he'd searched her the day before. But now he needed to know what they were saying about the accident. About her.

He clicked through article after article, reading about the time and location of the accident, the fact that he'd been driving the Lamborghini at the time. That he was uninjured, but the woman in the other car was being treated at Starling Memorial. Things he already knew. He was scrolling through the sixth article before he realized he was searching for a picture. Sure, there was a picture of the mangled red Mini sitting in the middle of the intersection—a picture that made the alcohol sloshing around in his stomach feel like it wanted to escape—but not one photo of Felicity Smoak. Not one fact about the girl he'd put in the hospital other than her name. He wasn't even sure how old she was.

Then he clicked on the seventh article.

" _Heir to Queen Fortune Paralyzes Employee_ ," the title read, with a photo of him drunkenly stumbling out of a bar with a brunette on his arm.

It was posted on a gossip site, and he was almost certain it would be removed by morning, but it was the only article that had more than just the basic facts Oliver already knew.

There was still no picture of Felicity and the photo of him was at least a year old, but the gossip blogger heavily eluded to the fact that, given his reputation and previous history, Oliver may have been drunk at the time of the accident. Which still wasn't new information, but the fact that Felicity Smoak worked for Queen Consolidated was, and Oliver took a deep breath, reading the first paragraph.

" _The victim of the accident, 20 year old Felicity Smoak, has worked for the Queen's company, Queen Consolidated, for the past year. Miss Smoak was critically injured during the accident, a source at the hospital reported, and is currently being treated for a spinal cord injury. Little more is known about the accident or its circumstances, but it is believed Miss Smoak was on her way home after working a late shift at Queen Consolidated_."

The blogger went on to cite his previous run-ins with the law, but Oliver snapped his laptop shut and slumped back onto the bed, already sick to his stomach.

Twenty.

She was twenty and worked for his family's company. And now she'd never walk again.

He picked up the bottle of tequila and drank.

•••

Oliver wasn't sure what time he woke up the next day, but he refused to leave his room until he was sure his mother wouldn't be around.

He went down to the kitchen to get something to eat, avoiding eye contact with Raisa, their housekeeper and Oliver and Thea's former nanny. She didn't try to talk to him, but he could feel her eyes on his back as he ate his cereal and it was too much, so he finished quickly and went back upstairs.

He bumped into Thea on the way up. She was dressed nicely, like she was going out, but didn't respond when he asked her about it. Just kept her eyes forward and walked right passed him.

Thea had never ignored him, no matter what stupid thing he'd done. She'd always been there for him, but not this time, it seemed.

"Mom is looking for you. She's in her office," she said when she reached the bottom of the stairs. But she still didn't look back.

•••

Oliver slipped through the door into his mother's home office as quietly as he could.

He knew he had to see her, he couldn't avoid her forever—Thea's cold greeting was proof that he needed to at least set some things straight—but he wasn't in a hurry to have this conversation. So, instead of walking into her office and facing her like the adult Oliver was supposed to be, he snuck in and stood in the doorframe, watching, silently, as she flipped through a stack of papers.

He must have stood there for three full minutes before she finally glanced up and noticed him.

"Oliver!" she exclaimed, startled, but the surprise in her voice still managed to sound subdued. She was as calm and collected as she ever was. Which didn't exactly help how unprepared Oliver felt for whatever was coming next. "I'm glad you're here. I wanted to speak with you."

"Thea mentioned that."

"Yes, because Thea didn't spend all weekend avoiding me," she murmured, neatly stacking the papers on her desk.

"I wasn't avoiding you, Mom." But Oliver knew she didn't believe him, so he tried again. "I just... needed some time. To adjust."

Moira sighed and stood up to round her desk. "Do you know what I've been doing for the past two days, Oliver?"

All Oliver could do was shrug. He didn't know, because he had, in fact, been avoiding her.

"I've been sorting out the insurance and medical bills from the hospital. I've been going through documents the lawyers have sent over so that I can try to protect this family from your mistake."

"And what do you want me to do?" he asked, knowing she wanted something from him, but he couldn't exactly contribute to any of that.

"I want you to go to the hospital with me this week so we can sit down with Felicity and her mother and try to work this out."

"I thought you said we were already paying for her medical bills and stuff? Why would I have to go see her for that? Why would she even want me to?"

"That's not the point. If, a few months from now, this girl decides to sue us, we need proof that the matter was settled out of court. And I need you to, at least, be present for that, even if it's just standing in the hall."

Oliver exhaled, his shoulders slumping. " _Mom_."

"No, Oliver," Moira said, voice steely. "There will be no discussion about this. You'll be there. This whole incident is already looking to cost us over a million in medical bills alone. And that's just for her hospital stay."

"Wow," Oliver quipped lightly, "I guess QC has good health benefits."

" _Oliver_!"

Moira's voice cut right through him and his eyes snapped to her icy blue ones. He'd never heard her like that before, like the anger and disappointment were just too much. It made something in his stomach churn and want to revolt.

"Do you understand how serious this situation is? That girl may never walk again."

 _Yes_ , he wanted to scream, he understood that it was serious. And if he hadn't, his mother's tone made it clear. He just didn't want to think about how serious it was, because if he did... If he thought about Felicity, Felicity who was only a few years older than Thea and might never...

His stomach churned again.

"Isn't that what we're paying her doctors for?"

It was a stupid thing to say, he knew that as soon as the words left his mouth. He didn't need to see the expression that crossed his mother's face to know he shouldn't have said it.

"I can pay this girl and her mother off, Oliver," she said, her voice pitched lower than before, almost gentle, but with that same gut wrenching tone. "I can keep them from suing us. I can even keep you out of jail, but I can't fix what you did." She took a breath and Oliver could see that her eyes were glassy. "You hurt that girl, Oliver. _You_ did that, and no one can make it go away."

Maybe it was the gentleness in her voice that did it—the anger mixed with her concern for him—but Oliver finally felt the control he'd been holding onto slip. And with it came a sob that he hadn't even realized had been trying to escape ever since he'd seen Felicity's mangled Mini Cooper.

He heard his mother murmuring his name, felt her hands on the back of his head, but he couldn't see past the onslaught of tears. Couldn't breathe past the lump in his throat.

"I didn't–I didn't..." He tried to swallow, but it felt more like choking. Tears and snot trailed down his face, blending together until he didn't know which was which. His voice was thick when he finally regained some semblance of control. "Mom, I didn't mean to."

"Oh, my boy," she said, cradling his head, pulling him into her arms. "I know. I know, sweetheart."

But her knowing didn't change it. He'd hurt someone—an innocent girl who'd just been trying to go home after work. He'd hurt her because he was selfish and stupid and didn't care about other people. And now she may never walk again and it was all his fault. His mother could pay to keep him out of jail, but there wasn't enough money in the world to wash away his guilt. There wasn't enough alcohol either, it seemed.

"Maybe this is my fault," his mother whispered after Oliver had calmed down a little. "Your father and I... we never taught you about consequences. We made your problems go away, instead of teaching you—" She went on, but Oliver had heard enough.

It would have been easy to let her take the blame. Even though he knew it was his fault, he could let her bear some of the guilt. But could he live with letting her believe that if she'd just been a better mother maybe things would be different?

"Mom," he said, pulling back from her. "I should have known better than to get into that car. I should have known better."

"I should have _taught_ you better," she said softly, with a shake of her head. Her makeup was smudged and her tears stained her cheeks a dull gray color. Oliver had never seen his mother look so sad, not because of him. He'd gotten into plenty of fights with her, he'd disappointed her countless times, but he'd never hurt her like this before. Never made her feel like a failure as a mother.

"I can't change what I did," he said, pulling away from her completely.

"I know, Oliver," she said, pressing her eyes closed tightly. "But you could, at least—"

"Mom," he said, interrupting her. "I can't change what I did, but I can do better from now on. I will do better. I promise."

Moira's brow crinkled as she took him in. She didn't look like she believed him, and that hurt more than he wanted to admit. When had he become someone even his own mother didn't believe in?

"Sweetheart..." she whispered.

Oliver wiped at his eyes, standing up straighter. He could own up to his mistakes, he _would_ own up to them. He couldn't let his mother down any more than he already had. Thea could hardly stand to look at him, and, from the look on his mother's face, he wouldn't be surprised if she was close to giving up on him, too. No, he might not be able to fix his mistake, might not be able to fix Felicity, but he could fix this. He would fix this.

With a small smile, he kissed his mother's cheek and left.

•••

Oliver wasn't sure why he'd thought this was a good idea.

Hospitals had always made him uncomfortable. He remembered when Thea was younger, how she'd fallen off her horse and broken her arm. He'd had to sit in the hospital waiting room with Raisa for hours, waiting for his mother to come back and tell him how Thea was doing—for his father to show up at all.

Walking through these halls now made him more uncomfortable than ever. Because it was his fault that someone was here. His fault that she'd been in this hospital for nearly a week, and would remain here for who knew how long.

He knew what room she was in. He was surprised that he remembered hearing his mother say it the other day, surprised that he'd committed it to memory without even realizing it.

436.

Such a nothing number, but he couldn't seem to forget it. And when he spotted it on a plaque on the wall—Room 436—those three little numbers made him feel like he'd start crying all over again.

A nurse brushed passed him with a hurried _excuse me_ , snapping him back into reality. The reality that he was standing outside the hospital room of the girl he'd crippled because he was a total asshole. With a deep breath, he stepped forward and peeked through the door.

He honestly wasn't sure what he'd been expecting—wires, tubes, the beeping of machines—but it wasn't the small blonde leaning back against a wall of colorful pillows, lost to the world as she looked at something on her tablet. She tapped away, an intense look on her face, completely oblivious to the fact that Oliver was now standing only five or six feet away.

When her brow furrowed at something on the screen and she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, Oliver had the strangest urge to smile. Which only made him feel worse, because this was the girl he'd hurt, he shouldn't be thinking how adorable she looked sitting there, surrounded by pillows, in a pair of pajamas with cupcakes printed on them. Despite what he'd promised his mother—and himself—about being better, he suddenly just wanted to apologize to this girl and get the hell out of here.

"Felicity Smoak?"

The girl jumped a little in surprise, nearly dropping her tablet. She locked her screen and turned to face him with a smile that froze the moment she realized that he wasn't one of her doctors.

"Hi," he said awkwardly, trying not to fidget. "I'm Oliver Queen."

"I know who you are," she said, but then closed her eyes. "I mean, of course I know who you are. I'd have to live under a rock not to know. And that was before you hit me with your car."

Oliver wasn't sure which of them flinched harder at her words.

She flailed one arm in front of her. "That's... I didn't mean it to sound..."

"No," he said quickly, moving a little further into the room. "It's okay. I..."

Oliver suddenly realized that he had no idea what he was going to say to this girl. He hadn't really wanted to think about it on the ride over, and now that he was standing right in front of her he wasn't even sure there were words to express how truly sorry he was.

"Sit down," she said and he almost looked behind him, because why the hell would she want to prolong this meeting? She should have already kicked him out by now. But she was gesturing to the chair near her bed and if she wanted him to sit down, then he owed that to her. She could say whatever she wanted to him and he'd take it. He deserved it, after all.

He pulled the chair away from the wall and sat down facing her. She just sat there for a moment, watching him—preparing to yell at him, maybe—which made Oliver want to squirm in his seat. Finally, she looked away, sitting up a little—he didn't miss her slight wince as she moved—and pulling one of the many colorful pillows down a little so she could lean back against it and still comfortably face him.

"So..." she said, looking just as unsure as he felt. "I don't really know how to handle this situation. It's awkward, right? This is awkward."

Oliver could only blink at her.

"I mean, I could yell. And believe me, I _could_ yell. Or I could cry, I suppose, but I really don't feel like dealing with puffy eyes and a runny nose after you leave, so I'm gonna cut you a break and just say I forgive you. Then we can both move on and be done with it."

She talked fast, that's the only thing Oliver could process at first. She talked really fast. Then his brain caught up to him and he realized what she'd said. She forgave him, just like that. She was letting him off scot-free, just like everyone else. Something about that rubbed him raw.

"No," he said, startling her.

"What?" she asked, eyes going wide.

"No, you don't forgive me."

Her lips parted as she looked down at him. The hospital bed she was sitting on was raised, probably to make it easier for her doctors and nurses to work, and Oliver had the nauseating thought that she'd never stand again. Because of him. Because he'd selfishly gotten behind the wheel of a car and hurt her.

"You don't forgive me, Felicity," he said again, getting to his feet. "I hurt you and you're mad and you deserve to yell and scream and tell me what a scumbag I am. Tell me to rot in hell, tell me you wish I died in that car crash."

He could feel the tears burning his eyes, getting caught in his lashes. He was towering over her now and he didn't know why. He was probably scaring her, but he was mad—at himself—and he wanted her to be mad, too. He wanted her to give him exactly what he knew he deserved. But she was just sitting there, looking at him. Lips parted, eyes wide and suddenly glassy behind her glasses. Why wasn't she yelling? Why wasn't she pushing him, hitting him, telling him to get away?

"Oliver," she breathed, and the soft sound only made his chest constrict painfully.

"Slap me," he begged her. "Hit me. Go ahead. I deserve so much worse!" When she didn't say anything he shook his head in frustration. "You know what I did," he said, voice rough with tears and guilt. "You know what I did to you."

"I know what you did," she confirmed. She sat back against her pillows, taking him in, and it made him feel small somehow.

"Then why haven't you called the press yet, the police, a lawyer, anyone? Why haven't you told the truth about me?"

"I know what you did," she repeated, looking more at ease now, even though he was still towering over her. "I know that you stayed with me until the police came and made you leave," she said quietly, a soft look in her eye that made that knot in Oliver's gut, the one that had been there since the accident, ease just a little. "I know that you held my hand and told me everything was going to be okay when you realized I was hurt."

Oliver took a step back, her soft words feeling like a bucket of ice water. "You were unconscious," he said.

"I was in and out," she corrected with a small smile.

He shook his head. "That doesn't make anything better. So I didn't run away from the scene... So I sat with you, it doesn't change what I did. You should—"

"I should feel whatever I _want_ to feel," she said, sounding angry for the first time since he entered the room. "Just because _you_ feel guilty doesn't give you the right to tell me how _I_ should handle this." She leaned back, staring at the ceiling with a sigh. "The truth is, I don't know how I feel. Because you're right, I should probably hate you. I should at least not want to see you. Ever. But after the crash," she said, closing her eyes, "everything hurt so much."

Oliver flinched at her words, but listened because he needed to hear this even if it made him sick to his stomach.

"It felt like days before the ambulance got there. I was fading in and out of consciousness. The only thing I had to focus on besides the pain was... _you_. You took my hand," she said, lacing her fingers together on her stomach, "and you just kept murmuring things to me. Telling me I'd be okay, that help was coming, how sorry you were. Every time I regained consciousness it was your voice I heard. You stayed and held my hand, Oliver." She sucked in a steadying breath and then turned to face him, her blue eyes meeting his. "So, I _am_ mad at you. You did the stupidest thing a person can do and I'm the collateral damage. But I don't hate you, and I could never wish you'd died. Because, for those minutes that you stayed with me, you cared. I may have been out of it, but I could tell that you cared. Just like I can tell that you care right now."

Oliver knew there were tears on his cheeks, but he ignored them. "I do care, Felicity. I never meant to hurt you, or anybody."

"I know," she said. "That's why I agreed to what your mother asked, even though I probably shouldn't have." She pushed herself higher up on the pillows so she was sitting up straighter. Her wince was less obvious this time, but Oliver still noticed. "I'm usually of the opinion that people should have to live with the consequences of their actions. But you are living with it. You don't need to go to jail for a few months to feel guilty. I could see your guilt that night."

"I'm so sorry, Felicity," he said, voice thick and gravelly as he wiped his face with his shirtsleeve.

"I know," she said. She watched him for a few moments, eyes dancing over his face, before she seemed to come to a decision. "Your mom is paying my medical bills and any other expenses stemming from the accident, which I thought was fair considering. And she's holding my job for me until I feel ready, which, let's be honest, is only going to be until I get out of this place, because there's no way I can sit at home all day by myself just watching TV or whatever. I mean, not that I have no life or anything, but my job is a big part of that life and, yeah, okay maybe Netflix is too—"

"Felicity?" Oliver interrupted, hoping to bring her back to her original point. Though he had to admit her rambling had definitely lightened the mood a little.

"Right," she said with a small smile and a shake of her head, her ponytail bouncing between her shoulder blades. "I was just thinking that maybe there was something you could do that would make you feel better. Less guilty, I mean. Over time, anyway, because you _should_ feel a little..." She closed her eyes for a moment. "I just thought that since my mom lives in Vegas and has to get back soon, maybe you could, I don't know. Visit me, maybe? If you wanted to," she rushed to add. "If it would help you forgive yourself a little, because I don't hate you, Oliver, and I don't want you to hate yourself. But I could use a friend right now, and I think that maybe you could too."

Oliver wasn't sure what to say, because what did one say to the girl they'd paralyzed from the waist down when she asked them to be her friend?

"You don't have to if you don't want to," she said. "I just thought it might be eye opening for you. To actually see the consequences of your actions. Plus I really could use a friend," she smiled a little. "You have no idea how boring it can get in this place."

Oliver did the only thing he could. He smiled back. "If there's one thing I've never been called, it's boring."


End file.
